Letting Go
by CrazyCousinEiko
Summary: When Hannah Spencer meets a mysterious little girl with a big grudge, she discovers that letting go of the past is more difficult said than done. Hannah borrowed with permission from She Steps On Cracks. Not Slash


I do not own Sherlock, John, or Mrs. Hudson- those belong to the wonderful Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. I also do not own Hannah Spencer [who acts as the narrator to this story]. She belongs to the lovely and incredibly talented She Steps on Cracks. I apologize that I'm not as eloquent as she is, but hopefully y'all will still like it. Kameko and her parents belong to me.

Thanks to the brilliant bleedingcrimson for beta-ing and helping me with some of Sherlock's lines. [If Sherlock says something that breaks your heart, she either edited it or wrote it]. Thank you also, She Steps On Cracks, for letting me borrow Hannah. I hope I did her justice!

Without further ado, enjoy! :D

)oOo(

I sat in Sherlock and John's living room _trying_ to block out the incessant stream of noise in Sherlock's head, but the best I could do was quiet it to a steady hum. Still, that was much more comfortable than the chaotic ruckus from before. He was working on some nameless concoction that issued luminous yellow smoke in what _would_ be called the kitchen if it were fit to cook anything. I had tried to follow his thoughts earlier, but the scientific jargon had given me a headache. It didn't help that I was exhausted from working today.

Before I could fully relax after leaving his stream of consciousness, I felt a new presence coming up the stairs- Lestrade. He seemed to be troubled about something, but before I could delve into his mind further, the DI knocked on the door. John let him in, and I didn't have read _his_ mind to know that John was concerned. I had a feeling that while part of it was for the very worn Lestrade, a large part of it had to do with whatever case the silver-haired man had brought with him. He nodded to John and me in greeting, but he couldn't afford to waste time on small talk. Staying well away from the kitchen, he called,

"Sherlock–"

"Where is it?" It sounded more of a statement than a question, but already Sherlock's mental swell nearly bowled me over with its ferocity.

"Just down the street from St. Bart's."

Sherlock immediately got up and put his beloved coat and scarf on. His mind was racing at a speed I had learned not to try and keep up with if I wasn't sitting down. John and I immediately suited up as well. We gave each other that long-suffering look that said, _This is going to be a long day._

)oOo(

This was Sherlock's lucky day. I hadn't seen him so excited since he had been working on the Moriarity case. He was twirling and clapping his hands in that manic fashion that I had come to decipher as his non-drug-induced high. Unfortunately -or perhaps fortunately for my sanity- serial murders did not give me the same energy boost. John saw through my stubbornness and made me sit down on the sidelines, well within the sight and reach of the police but far enough to give me a break. He left to go back to Sherlock before I could even thank him, but I suppose my expression of relief had conveyed that to him. I sighed and stared out blankly past all the traffic and commotion of my surroundings to... well, nowhere, to be honest. I just needed to rest.

_Why am I here, anyway? No one asked me to come._ Another part of me answered, _Exactly. They just assume you'll come by now. They're used to you, and you make sure not to let them down._

"Hello? _Helloooooo!_ Anyone in there, or is this another corpse for forensics to 'clean up'?"

I suddenly realized that there was a girl standing right in front of me. Embarrassed and not quite sure what to do, I meekly said, "Ummm... Hello. Sorry, I-"

"Finally!" she cried in exasperation. She smiled impishly, reminding me of a scheming fox cub. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to... well, you wouldn't want to know."

The girl looked to be somewhere between seven and nine and had a thin, athletic body. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate, and her black hair looked as if each strand had been wound around a pencil and stayed that way. This mass of unruly curls had been shoved into a pink and green knit hat with ear flaps and pom-poms hanging down from the top. Her small, round lips were currently smirking at me in a fashion I found disturbingly familiar. Her eyes were a rich, dark brown and almond-shaped. She would have looked like one of those precious moments dolls if she hadn't been currently studying me with a searching and equally disturbing gaze. Actually, with her teddy bear patterned jumper, white skort, rainbow-striped knee-socks, and light-up trainers, she resembled an adorable yet disconcerting life-size doll.

"By the way, you really ought to buy a different nail polish- that one can leave unpleasant marks on furniture, and I'm sure that even with your good relationship with your employer, she'd rather not have you scuffing the ritzy hotel furniture."

I was stunned. Obviously she had been studying me as I was studying her. I tried to probe around the edges of her mind, but she was much more difficult to read than I had anticipated despite the fact that the noise it emanated was nearly deafening. Her mind, like Sherlock's, reminded me more of an ocean than a train track- fleeting impressions of a thousand different things ebbed and flowed on multiple tides at varying speeds and strengths. I was so surprised by her intelligence that I could only stutter a polite question.

"C-can I can help you?"

She shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know, but you're my only chance at this point so I guess we'll have to try and hope for the best."

I tried not to be taken aback by such blatant rudeness. I second-guessed my first conclusion and re-assessed her as somewhere between ten and twelve. I'd have guessed older, but she looked too young to be a teenager. After taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I asked,

"What do you need?"

"Well, we'll get to what I _need_ after I make sure that you're not a total dunce like most of these coppers are." She paused, as if reconsidering her approach to all this. Finally, she sighed and explained in a serious but condescending tone,

"Look, I know this'll sound crazy, but you've _got_ to believe me. Sherlock is going to be tempted to think that this is the last death. Almost all evidence points to it. But it's not. The killer will strike again directly under the west side of Waterloo Bridge at 8 o'clock tonight. He'll be wearing a black baklava mask with a skull on it, a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and the same stupid steel-toed boots he wears for every killing. Way to be an idiot, Mr. Habit. Sherlock knows the rest of what he looks like, so no need to go into that. As he also knows, the killer will be alone (besides the person that may or may not die, of course)."

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?"

She set her hands on her hips and gave me a look that clearly asked, _Are you kidding me?_ but instead answered, "Would a kid like me be able to make up a story with such specific facts?"

She had a point. Still, I couldn't help but ask, "Why don't you tell Sherlock yourself?"

"Because if he thinks he's too good to talk to me face-to-face, then I won't give him any face time. He'll see that he needs me. I'm only helping because I don't want Sherlock's mistake to kill another person." She quickly added, "Not that I care."

"He's going to ask me how I came to this information. Who should I tell him gave it to me? He knows that I couldn't know that on my own."

"He's a clever guy. He should be able to figure it out." She shrugged. "If he insists on a name, tell him Kameko. He'll get mad, but he won't argue."

"Kameko-"

"Yes, I really am homeless, and I like it that way. Tell Sherlock that, too. Maybe you can get _that_ through his thick skull."

Before I could stop her, Kameko stormed off. I could only pick up two stray thoughts:

"_I wonder how the skull is. I miss him." _and "_That'll show 'im. Sherlock needs me whether he wants to admit it or not. Brat."_

The second was enough to convince me that regardless of whether anything that she was saying was true or not, I had to talk to Sherlock. This little girl had a big grudge against Sherlock for keeping her out of the investigation, and I couldn't help but wonder why she felt so entitled in the first place. In the months I had known Sherlock, he neither mentioned nor thought about Kameko- to my knowledge, anyway.

_Was it really wise for me to let her run off like that? Well, I suppose I can't help it now. I'll just have to tell Sherlock the information. It wouldn't hurt to at least let him know, even if he doesn't believe a word I say. Still, I didn't like her attitude. It almost reminded me of... __**Sherlock**__._

I had gotten up and started walking toward the consulting detective until that thought crossed my mind. I stared at him, comparing the two. _Arrogant, smug, irritated at others' supposed incompetence, entitlement mentality..._

"Are you alright, Hannah?" John asked, concern written on his features. I nodded and resisted the urge to massage my temples. I could no longer hear the buzzing in her head like I could Sherlock's, but I still felt its effects.

"Fine. I... I need to talk to Sherlock. What do you think are the chances that he would actually listen to anything I say at this point?"

"Unless it's related to the case, I'd say slim chance to none."

"I'm not sure if this qualifies, but I'll at least try." John accompanied me over to Sherlock for moral support. When the consulting detective had ceased talking and spinning around, I stood in front of him and decided to cut to the chase.

"This isn't the last murder. There will be another one. _Tonight_."

John blinked and looked at me in surprise, while Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking me over. He wondered, _How could she know? Almost all the evidence points to this being the last one, but, she's right. She can't have figured this out herself. She's not clever enough. She must have been told by someone, but who... who's clever enough to-_

"It's her, isn't it?" Sherlock spoke tonelessly, but I felt a wave of vexation that left me momentarily speechless.

"Who-?"

"The girl who told you. Said she was from my homeless network, no doubt."

I nodded.

"And her name was Kameko."

I nodded once again. Sherlock swore under his breath. His eyes steely, he demanded, "Where? When?"

"Directly under the west side of Waterloo Bridge. Eight o'clock. He'll be wearing-"

"I know what he'll be wearing. Eight o'clock _exactly_?"

"She didn't say."

Sherlock whirled around almost before I had finished and stormed away. '_More like __**wouldn't**__. Irritating little brat.' _I heard him think. I looked over at John and informed,

"We probably should follow him."

"Right."

)oOo(

In the end, it turned out that Kameko had been correct. Sherlock made some crazy plan that the rest of us weren't in on and then executed it… well, it was chaos as usual, but everything worked out in the end like it always did. Sherlock swore that he could have figured this all out himself, but I wondered if he could have done it in time. He wouldn't have cared, but the rest of us were glad to save an innocent life. When Lestrade had his crew on clean up duty, we decided to take our leave. The report could wait until tomorrow. The taxi on the way to Baker Street was quiet as we each brooded over the day's chaos. As soon as we stepped out of the cab, however, I asked,

"Sherlock, how do you know Ka–"

He shot me a death glare, cutting me off in my tracks. John looked back and forth between us, trying to figure out what was going on, but neither of us clued him in. It was obvious Sherlock didn't want his flat-mate to know about this. Giving up, the doctor announced with a tired sigh,

"I'm going upstairs. Anyone want some tea?"

Sherlock said nothing. I had a feeling that he and I were going to be outside quite a while, so I shook my head.

"No, thank you."

"Very well, then." He looked from me to Sherlock and back again. John looked as if he were about to say something but abruptly turned around and headed up to the flat instead. Sherlock remained standing outside but remained silent. I shifted uncomfortably. Was he going to say anything or make me stand here all night for no good reason?

Suddenly, Sherlock turned away from me and began walking swiftly. I tried to read his thoughts, but they were even vaguer than usual, leaving me only more puzzled than before. We took a winding path through the city past places I didn't even know had existed in the city. Several times I believed our journey was at an end, for my guide would stop and brood, but suddenly he would be off again. I could barely keep up with his long stride. Finally, we arrived at a tall, white building with large oak doors and stained glass windows that would have look glorious in morning light.

_Wait... A church? Why would Sherlock take me to a church?_

But the consulting detective passed the doors and opened up a back gate. I followed him through to the back of the building. A cemetery. He wound through the graves until he found two. I read the headstones:

_Cameron Theodore Edwards_

_May 1, 1975- March 7, 2010_

_A loving father and husband_

_And a joy to all who knew him_

_Michiko Edwards_

_August 10, 1971-March 7, 2010_

継続は力なり。

_Perseverance is strength._

"This was..." _The night of the explosion,_ I thought. _But what's so special about these graves? Surely many more people died that night as well._

"The girl, Kameko... Her parents died in the explosion, but their bodies were never found. She is... convinced that they are alive. She has been pestering me to find them. She's looked; I have looked. Even Mycroft has looked. The CCTV cameras last showed them in the vicinity of the explosion. They are definitively dead, but Kameko refuses to listen to sense. She will not go where she belongs until she finds her parents, dead or alive."

I studied Sherlock. He said the last almost bitterly. However, he covered it up with irritation so that there were no chinks in his impenetrable fortress, guarding his hardened heart. This wasn't like him. He was the "high-functioning sociopath" who seemingly didn't care about anyone else except for himself, John, Lestrade, and perhaps Mycroft when it suited him.

"Spencer..." his voice brought me out of my musings. I couldn't see the expression on his face, but it was evident from the tone of his thoughts and voice that what he was about to say wouldn't be easy. "I... I need you to convince Kameko that her parents have died. She needs to move on."

I blinked in surprise. Why me? Why not Lestrade or John? They seemed much more likely to be able to deal with children than myself, but perhaps I was mistaken. Still, I nodded. There was something subtly desperate in his manner and the tone of this thoughts that I couldn't say no to.

"Alright. But how do you want me to go about that? I don't know where she lives or anything."

"She likes to loiter around the playground at the local primary school after hours. You should find her there. Say whatever you feel is necessary to change her mind."

With that, he turned around and left. After standing there in surprise for several seconds, I followed him. He refused to say a word to me edgewise for the rest of the night, so by the time I got to Baker Street, I was thoroughly tired of Sherlock's company. I went upstairs, bid John good night, and hastily left. Tomorrow, I felt, would be a long day.

)oOo(

My assumption, fortunately, proved to be incorrect. Work flew by smoothly, and I was surprised when it was time to go home. I swung by Belladonna's Brews to get a cuppa on my way to the playground. Part of me wanted to avoid another meeting with Kameko for as long as possible, but the other just wanted to get this over with. I decided to side with the latter today and, making sure no one saw me, made my way to the primary school. It didn't surprise me to see Kameko already sitting on one of the swings, pumping her legs back and forth lazily and allowing gravity and momentum to do most of the work. Unsure of what else to do, I took a seat on the swing beside her and waited. After several minutes she slowed down but remained on the swing.

"You delivered my message."

I blinked. Her bluntness was still unexpected even though I already knew that she was like Sherlock in most manners.

"Yes."

"Which proves that you are not so incompetent as I had feared." Kameko inspected her fingernails, and I got the impression that she was doing it just to psyche me out. _Tough luck, girl. I'm telepathic. Pretty hard to do that._

"He sent you on a little errand, did he not?" She glanced sideways at me, and I stared right back. I was not going to let a little girl push me around. Straightening, I replied coolly,

"I had the liberty to choose to come here."

"So you think." A smirk twitched on the left corner of her lips. She had gone back to pretending to ignore me. Her almost black eyes gazed straight ahead, seemingly taking in nothing, but I could faintly hear the buzz of her mind. I knew that she saw far more than any person -save Sherlock- could.

"He wants you to go back to where you belong."

She gave a derisive laugh. The sound sent a shock wave through me. I had rarely heard someone's voice so full of scorn, and never from one so young. If I didn't know Sherlock better, I'd say Kameko was his child.

"Did he _really_ say that, Spencer? 'Where I belong'?" her voice hardened. "Tell him I don't _belong_ anywhere but here."

_With Sherlock_, I heard her think. Silence settled between us. I tried to focus onto her thoughts, but even though I could hear their general hum and whir and sometimes roar, I couldn't pick up on any more than that tidbit. I wondered about that. Even Sherlock couldn't fully hide his thoughts from me. How could this child? When she had first met me, she had regarded me with a suspecting eye. Could she know of my ability?

_Well, no matter whether she knows or not, I guess I can't solve this by reading her mind. I'll just have to do this the old fashioned way. If only she weren't a kid or so much like Sherlock..._

"Why are you here?"

At this, she looked up at me in surprise. I supposed she wasn't prepared for me to actually continue the conversation. Realizing that she acknowledged me, she turned away and began swinging. I caught a stray unguarded though- _I'm waiting_. I wondered what she was waiting for, but she did not seem very forthcoming. I almost thought she had made up her mind to completely ignore me when she answered,

"This is where Sherlock and I first met. I helped him with a case. Gave him the last piece of evidence he needed." She smirked triumphantly, pride flashing in her eyes. "And ever since then he's needed my help in one way or another on a case. He'd never admit it, though. He's too stuck up for that."

"Would you say that you needed him, too?"

Her nose wrinkled in irritation. "Only because I can't get a decent case at my age. Once other people realize what I can do, I'll set up my own business and show Sherlock that I am superior to him in every way."

I couldn't help but smile. Even though she had those same habits Sherlock had that vexed me to no end, Kameko's feisty spirit was endearing. I don't remember much about when I was her age (whatever age that may have been), but I'm quite sure that I wasn't this motivated or sure of what my goals were. Even though she pretended that she was only using Sherlock, I could tell that she was very much attached to Sherlock. And that was when I realized-

"You like Sherlock, don't you?"

She frowned at me. "There are many different definitions for the word 'like,' especially when expanded to include all English dialects. What do you mean in this case?"

Her manner was so straightforward but genuinely curious that I began laughing. She frowned even more.

"Sherlock is the only child you ever spend time with on a regular basis, I gather."

"I suppose he is," I replied, trying to stifle my laughter. "I'm sorry. It's just... I've never met anyone like you before. Even though you're so much like Sherlock, you still manage to surprise me constantly. Or perhaps that's why..."

"Well, then I am doing my job. Life is much easier without feeling like having to conform to weak-minded people's expectations. It is even better when you rub your success into those people's faces." She grinned mischievously. "Poor, stupid Martha Richards..."

"Who?"

"Rotten little wench from my class. Picture Anderson as a little girl."

I tried not to gag at the mental image. Whoever this Martha Richards was, I didn't want to be there when she and Kameko were. Sherlock and Anderson were bad enough. I didn't want to see Kameko in a cat-fight.

"You're a sneaky one, Kameko, but I'm still not letting you off without answering my question."

"Question?" she repeated coyly. We both knew what I was talking about. Finally, she admitted, "Sherlock doesn't really have friends, and neither do I. We're not the kind of people who can have 'friends,' so we have each other. Or at least, we did..."

"Did?"

"Some things happened. Even I don't entirely know what, and I see more than anyone else, especially when it comes to Sherlock. And then... he just stopped talking to me."

"What about with your parents? He said he and Mycroft looked."

Kameko snorted. "He did? Well, this is the first I've heard of it."

"_Really_?"

"Well, he left some notes for me on that swing a few months ago. Didn't try to look for me, did he? Didn't even go to the effort of telling me to my face that my parents are dead."

I bit my lip. She may have had the intellect of an adult, but emotionally, somewhere in there, she was still a child. No matter how tough she acted, she was hurt by the fact that the only person she seemed to trust didn't live up to her expectations. I felt for her. Sherlock had a habit of letting people down in that department.

"Well, perhaps he-"

"Sherlock didn't tell me because he didn't want to. And why is that? Because it was _boring_? Because he was too _lazy_? He knew that if he had waited even two minutes that I would have been there. No, he didn't tell me because he didn't want to face me. And why is that? He wouldn't have that same problem with anyone else. He isn't attached enough to me to feel badly about the news. No, I think that he didn't believe what he was saying. I think he suspected that they were alive. Or maybe-"

She gasped suddenly, her eyes widening in realization. I could practically see the light go off in her head. She bit her lip and averted her gaze. She shook her head slowly and murmured,

"God, Sherlock, you're more of an idiot than I took you for." _So am I,_ she thought. Snapping back to reality, she looked at me and said, "Spencer, you and Sherlock meet me at the graveyard at midnight."

"What? Why?"

Kameko rolled her eyes. Seemed that she didn't like being emotional any more than Sherlock did. "He's not going to come if you just tell him to. You've got to drag him there. He's been avoiding me, and he's going to keep avoiding me until he's made to meet me. It's been long enough. We need to talk."

She ran off, and this time I followed her. "Wait up!"

Stopping, she turned to face me. "Yes?"

"You want to stay at my place until then? No one should have to roam the streets alone."

"I've got some stuff to do. See you tonight! And remember, do whatever it takes!"

I sighed. _Whatever it takes_. What had I gotten myself into?

)oOo(

At precisely midnight, Sherlock and I found ourselves back in the same spot we had just been about 24 hours before. He scanned the area, his face a mask of stone. Something about him made me hesitant to read his mind. I didn't need to, however, for Kameko arrived. I could feel the crackling energy of the atmosphere as Sherlock's icy eyes met her fiery ones. The consulting detective spoke first.

"You're late."

"I dropped by Alin's on the way here."

"Yes... I suppose that was practical, given the circumstances."

"My thoughts exactly."

An uncomfortable silence settled. I bit my lip and wondered if I should try to do something to intervene, but my instincts told me that they needed to work this out themselves. It was simply my job to bring them together and make sure they saw it through. Kameko slowly walked across the cemetery until she stood half a meter away from Sherlock.

"Sherlock..." Her voice shook a little, and she took a moment to steady it. She stared directly into his eyes, something that few other people did with such conviction, I realized. "Are my parents really dead?"

There was a pause. Kameko's face remained stoic as Sherlock's.

"I gave you the papers. Surely you don't need me to lay out the conclusion for you."

_It's not about that! Are you really so blind, Sherlock!_ Kameko screamed inwardly, but she kept her composure. I couldn't have done the same under the same circumstances. She inhaled slowly and replied coolly,

"Surely you can tell me. Or is this simple thing too insurmountable for the great Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock bristled at the comment. "I don't need to tell you. You are intelligent enough to conclude what happened."

"You don't get it, do you Sherlock? Even with your amazing powers of deduction, you don't get it." She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Sometimes I don't even know why I try! I don't know why I keep expecting something from you when we all know you're never going to deliver!"

"I don't know what you mean," his face was calm, almost deathly so. For once, his mind didn't whirl in every which direction; it wasn't a raging ocean that threatened to drown me in its chaos. It was... calm. Almost, blank. As if _nothing _was happening...

"If I have to move on, so do you! _You're_ the one who's keeping me here. I don't want to leave you, and even though you won't admit it, I know you don't want me to leave you, either. As long as you want me here, I'll stay and help. But if you are ready for me to go, you have to _tell_ me, Sherlock."

"Who said that I needed you? I don't need anyone." He was still calm, though I couldn't help but detect a hint of anger... and sadness. He was lying through his teeth, and we all knew it. Kameko stiffened. Even if she knew he wasn't telling the truth, the words still hurt.

"I see." Her voice broke. She averted her gaze so Sherlock wouldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes. The consulting detective turned his head as if to inspect something over her shoulder, and Kameko discreetly wiped her watery eyes and collected herself. She looked up at him with a sad smile and solemnly stuck out her hand. "Goodbye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, Kameko."

He hesitantly wrapped his spidery fingers around hers and shook her hand. They remained still, gazing at each other so as as if to take in every minute detail for the last time. It dawned on me that perhaps it was. Kameko threw a quick side glance at me and smirked.

"Take care of that one, Spencer. And by the way, knowing what someone's thinking isn't the same as knowing how to help them. Remember that. Until next time."

She nodded to me, then to Sherlock, and released her grip. He slowly released his grip as well. With a final wave, Kameko turned around. Her body began to glow a soft blue hue that slowly expanded until it enveloped her. Tiny, brighter lights circled her like fireflies before dashing ahead into the night, forming a road that Kameko followed. Suddenly the darkness drew around her like a cloak, and she vanished. I blinked and looked around. She was gone. Just like that. I looked at Sherlock, who simply stared in the direction Kameko had disappeared. I saw him lean on the stone next to him for support.

_That's it. She's gone._

I walked up to him and, unsure of what else to do, set what I hoped would be a comforting hand on his shoulder. I was shocked to feel what in his case counted as a profound sense of loss, emptiness, and finality. I drew back, not knowing what to say. I had no idea that he could feel anything that deep, though on looking back his emotions still weren't as intense as most people's. Still, they were genuine, and that's what counted. On my questioning look, Sherlock stepped aside, and I read the inscription on the headstone:

_Nadia "Kameko" Edwards_

_January 17, 2002 - March 7, 2010_

挨拶は時の氏神。

_Greetings are the people who turn up at the right moment._

I stared at the gravestone for several minutes before it finally sunk in. "She's..."

"Yes."

"And you knew? Both of you?"

"Yes."

"Then what-?"

Suddenly it dawned on me. The secrecy, the evasion, the hesitancy... Kameko couldn't rest in peace until she and Sherlock had been reconciled. She had seemed so full of vibrancy and fire with her goals to compete with Sherlock and prove to the world what she could do... It wasn't right that her life had been snuffed out so soon, especially at the hands of a villain like Moriarty.

I looked over at Sherlock, who brooded silently. When I dipped into the ocean of his mind, I found him thinking about the night of the explosion. How he found Kameko half-buried under the rubble and insisted on digging her out despite Lestrade's insistence that Sherlock get in an ambulance. How Lestrade had given up and helped him pull her out. How he had held her dead body in his arms and found the note she had written him. How, later on, in the hospital, he had felt for perhaps the first time in his life what it was like to feel guilty. His deep, cello-like voice drew me from his thoughts.

"She was so much smarter and cleverer than most people, and she- she could _observe_. Had she grown up, she would have become my competition. She would have seen to that. She really was something..."

I didn't say anything. What _could_ I say? I had no idea how to deal with someone like Sherlock grieving. Sure, I could read his thoughts, but he was so different from everyone I knew that knowing what he was thinking wasn't enough. Suddenly, I realized I didn't need to say anything. Sherlock had said and done what he had to. He had finally let go. Now it was time for all of us to move on.

_Greetings are the people who turn up at the right moment._

I smiled.

Kameko had come into our lives at just the right the moment. It was time for us to do the same for someone else.

It was time to let go and live on.

)oOo(

Reviews are very welcome. :D Especially if you cried or came close to crying. I'd like to know, especially because I almost starting crying, and I never cry! I'm the stinkin' writer, and I almost cried! Although to be fair, bleedingcrimson happened to write that particular beautiful (and heartbreaking) quote. XD

For those of you who are curious, the first Japanese proverb is reads "_Keizoku wa chikara nari,_" and the second one reads "_Aisatsu wa toki no ujigami."_ ;)

To see Hannah Spencer in her own story, check out "Weighing His Words" by She Steps On Cracks. It's amazing. Seriously. In fact, if you haven't read it, go do so. Immediately. Go on.

If you would like to see more of Kameko and how she was in life, read "Great Minds Think Alike. Foolls Seldom Differ". As a disclaimer, she was unusually serious and mature in this one- normally she's a lot sassier and mischievous, but this was obviously very different than her "normal." Let me know in the reviews if there's anything in particular you'd like to see. ;)

Thanks for reading!


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